Empty Chip Bag
It’s been three days since we lost electricity. It took me as long to find a pen. Who needs pens anymore anyway? Me. I need pens. I started keeping track of the days by carving into the wall. I think from this point forward, I will use the tally system rather than carving out “day one, day two... etc.” My hand hurts.
Frank and Cornelius seem to be on the outs. They are on the am shift for work and watching this schedule has helped to estimate what time it is. I saw them walking together only to see Frank storm off in the opposite direction about five minutes later. Cornelius was seen speaking to the queen later that evening. Drama unfolds on empty chip bag island.
Frank is dead. The funeral procession lasted 2 minutes. The hundreds of guests that arrived did not even seem to care as they went about their business. Poor frank. Crushed by a rogue flip flop. They were on my feet but that’s neither here nor there. This isn’t about blame. Its about Frank, the most productive ant I’ve ever met.
This is getting ridiculous. The ants have abandoned me. I’m starting to think they were only using me for food. But now that food has gone sour and I guess even they have standards. Classy ants.
I used most of the pen ink, writing out posts for Facebook and Instagram. Now that I can’t eat the pen, I’m starting to realize how little it matters. I have a new appreciation for life and nature and organic connection. Things are going to change, by golly!
The power is back! I haven’t forgotten the epiphanies I have had. I’m going to make changes. Starting now. Follow my blog on Instagram to track my progress!
By me, I mean I
It’s been years since I thought of you
Since I reflected on all I’ve put you through
Years since I considerded your needs
By you I mean I, By I, I mean me
I stopped caring about how I made you feel
Harsh words and judgments, wounds are real
I took my value from my own palms
And let the mind of others define my wrongs
Everytime I feel like you’re not enough
It’s rewarded with ever decreasing self-trust
When did I lose the last of my self-compassion?
The voices of others, an overwhelming distraction
To you I mock, judge, abuse and even lie
By you I mean me, by me, I mean I
Its my own fault that I feel this way
My own disregard for the lost soul I slay
This is the problem, the cycle is on repeat
From my own torment, I cannot retreat
My last ally and my enemy are of one kind
both reside in my lovely broken mind